


Simplicity

by RexanZ



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, first fic on here, getting back into writing, i've always wanted to own a flower shop, startup fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-03-14 20:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3424670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RexanZ/pseuds/RexanZ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stephanie Grey works in a flower shop. John Watson is forever in trouble with his girlfriend at the time, and often Sherlock tags along when he goes to buy her flowers. But Sherlock often wonders why a girl who's allergic to flowers runs the shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Purple and Gold

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic on this site...I'm sort of nervous. Please be gentle and give me suggestions on how to make my work even better :)

Sometimes simplicity is what makes life worth living. Not everything has to be stacked up against odds, or be one of a kind, be powerful, or brilliant. Sometimes simple and mundane is brilliant in itself.

She had never consider herself brilliant. She had never really considered herself at all. She never wanted to.

Stephanie was a normal, plain girl. And that was all she would ever be. She worked in a florist’s and lived in the flat above the shop. Much to her displeasure, she found out after living there for three months that she was allergic to pollen.

It was nothing a few Claritin couldn’t deal with.

Stephanie wasn’t one to give up on what she wanted, and flowers were what she wanted. She would spend days upon days pruning, weeding, watering, arranging, and selling bouquets and potted plants. Her favourite flower?

“Snapdragons.” She told the dusty blonde male at the desk. “Snapdragons have always been my favourite. It’s a shame I can’t find any seeds to grow and sell them. Why isn’t your friend coming in? It’s cold and miserable out.” Stephanie nodded past his shoulder to the lanky man standing outside the store under the awning.

“Oh, um, sorry about him. He’s not much of a flower person. Not really much of a person, come to think of it…” he trailed off and looked back at Sherlock. “John, by the way. John Watson.” His smile was warm, and his eyes crinkled as he grinned.

“Stephanie. Stephanie Grey. Pleasure to meet you. Send my regards to your girlfriend, by the way, she must be one special girl if you’re willing to spend thirty pounds on flowers.” Stephanie chuckled and went back to her bouquet wrapping station behind the counter. John nodded his agreement before tucking the flowers under his coat and heading outside into the rain.

 

The next day she came down the stairs in her pajamas to open up shop when she saw the same dark-haired man as the past day standing outside the door.

“Can I help you?” she asked through the crack in the door.

“Your sign says you are open at eight a.m. and it is now,” she paused to glance at his watch. “Eight-fifteen.”

Stephanie stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say. “I’m sorry? I slept in this morning. Alarm clock didn’t go off but I came down as fast as I could.”

“Doesn’t matter. Let me in.”

Again she stood there dumbfounded at his attitude. John actually called this man his friend? It took all types, she supposed, as she opened the front door to allow Sherlock in. She didn’t bother changing the sign to open. “And what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Why do you run a flower shop if you are allergic to flowers?”

“Pardon me?”

“Your allergy medicine on the counter.” He nodded towards the blue box. “The puffiness around your eyes. The fact you haven’t stopped sniffling since you let me in tells me you haven’t taken any yet today. So why choose to work with flowers?”

“I like flowers?” she filled a cup with water and took her medication before putting the box under the counter instead. “Why? I thought you weren’t a flower person.”

“I’m not. I find flowers a waste of money.”

“I don’t grow flowers to sell them. I grow flowers because I like them and other people offer to buy them from me.” Stephanie explained simply as she swept the floor, preparing for the day. A ghost of a smirk graced Sherlock’s lips at her explanation. “England is grey enough as it is, it certainly does no harm to liven the scenery up a little.”

 

After she’d showered and changed into her work clothes and donned her apron, she finally came back down to the store to see Sherlock standing behind the counter wrapping flowers for a customer.

“Um, excuse me?” Stephanie asked. This customer was a regular. He was an elderly man who always came by to purchase tulips to place on his late wife’s grave. He was usually quiet and sombre, asking for three tulips without as much as a ribbon wrapping them. But there he was being offered twice the number of flowers adorned with white tissue paper and a soft blue ribbon.

“This was her favourite colour,” the man said softly. “Stephanie, you’ve got a real winner here!” he smiled and handed Sherlock thirty pounds which Sherlock deposited into the cash register.

“Thank you sir. Say hello for me.” Sherlock ushered him out the door and shed his painfully fake smile.

“What the hell was that!? You can’t just walk into my store before I’ve opened and then when I’ve gone to get ready just help customers like you work here!” she raged. “This is my shop and those are my customers and did he give you thirty pounds?”

“Yes. I believe he added a tip for lunch for the both of us.”

Stephanie’s rage dissipated instantly. “Keep the thirty. It was your work after all.”

“I don’t need it. I make money other ways.”

“Oh I bet you do.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing!”

 

The rest of the day was spent in silence. Sherlock had long since left the shop and business was slow as usual. It wasn’t until she was closing up that she found a small bouquet hidden in the drawer under the counter. Snapdragons. No note, just a small bundle of purple snapdragons held together with a long piece of gold ribbon.

“I hope he paid for the ribbon.” She chided to herself as she brought them into her flat. Finding a vase and filling it with water, she set bouquet in and put the display on her bedside table. It had to have been Sherlock who had left them. Who else would have? John wasn’t in all day and no one else really knew about her love for the strange flower.

She pinched the sides of the flower, making the ‘mouth’ open and close. “Maybe if I push him a bit, he’ll talk too.”


	2. Red and Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas at 221B Baker Street.

Christmas time was not a time for growing flowers, yet somehow it was a time where flowers and greenery seemed necessary. Stephanie woke to the sharp buzzing of her alarm clock. Grunting, rolling over, and slamming the clock, she made about her morning routine. It had been months since she’d seen Sherlock and John and the snapdragons had long since died. However before they wilted, Stephanie pressed them carefully, dried them, and hung them up in a distressed wooden frame in the shop.

Showered, dried, fed, and medicated, she made her way down to open the shop. December was never a busy month for her so she normally cleaned up, struggled with and worried about her bills, and shovelled the snow around her block. So imagine her surprise when she saw a card stuffed into the handle of the door.  
She flipped the sign to ‘open’ and opened the door a crack to yank the card from the handle. Her name was scrawled elegantly on the envelope. It was probably the card her mother sent her. She sent one every year, but because the mailman was her friend, he put important things where Stephanie could see them, as she rarely checked her mailbox.

_Stephanie_   
_You are cordially invited to Christmas dinner at 221B Baker Street, Thursday December 24th. The dress code is formal. Gifts are not required._   
_Sherlock Holmes and John Watson_   
_PS: John has another girlfriend. A word from the wise, do not bring up the last ones._

Stephanie snorted as she read the message over again. He was a daft one, wasn’t he? Of course she’d go. And of course she would bring gifts. Chocolates of course, for as many guests as there were, but she had no clue what to get for Sherlock. She felt as if she should get him something more.

When the day finally came Stephanie was in a panic. Her dress was a rosy Christmas red, her shoes a beautiful matte black, her stockings matched her skin tone perfectly, her makeup was impeccable but her hair was an absolute mess. It would not lie flat no matter how hot the flat iron was and no matter how much product she used. It was just not cooperating. So instead she pulled it back away from her face and up into a tight ponytail, then twirled it around the tie to make a somewhat nice-looking bun.  
With a last look at her phone she dashed to the street, bag of gifts in hand, and hailed a taxi. And then she was there. She was standing on the stoop of John and Sherlock’s flat in the freezing cold, hugging her coat around her tightly. She had knocked, but it was five minutes before anyone came to answer.

“Stephanie!” John greeted her with a hug and brought her inside. He took her coat and hung it on the wall by the door. “Just up the stairs and it’s the door on your right.”  
She followed his instructions and walked into their quaint little home and was immediately overpowered by the smell of perfume. Her nose scrunched up in disgust as she scanned the room for the scent’s owner. Of course it was the woman she didn’t recognize.  
Had Sherlock invited her?  
That didn’t seem to be the case as he greeted Stephanie in familiar fashion: a nod of the head and a tiny little smirk. It was a small greeting they shared, and about the only thing they shared. Not phone numbers, not any other contact information, hardly any words, they were like strangers. But that nod and that smirk felt like a rope that tied them tighter than anything else could.

“Hello, Stephanie. I wrote in the card that gifts were not required.” He stated, making not of the bag in her hand.

“I know; I just can’t resist giving people presents. I had to.” She passed a box of chocolates to John, to John’s girlfriend, to Mrs. Hudson, and to the various other guests she didn’t know of. Once everything was handed out she sat down. Sherlock eyed her expectantly, wondering where his own gift was. He seemed confused. Perhaps she forgot about him? Perhaps she never intended on getting him a gift? The confusion and curiosity on his face brought a smile to Stephanie’s lips. “I didn’t forget you, Sherlock.” She pulled a small green velvet box from the bag and handed it to him. The room, even with all its occupants, was silent. A woman that hardly anyone there knew well had just given the most mysterious man in the room a small velvet box.  
The gift seemed to only confuse Sherlock more. Deft fingers opened the lid and eyes widened a fraction when he saw what was inside.  
“Cufflinks.” He stated and pulled one out to further examine it. It was a tiny brown dot lacquered to a larger purple gem. In an instant he knew what they represented, but didn’t dare speak a word.  
Purple, the colour of the snapdragons he gave her. The brown speck was a snapdragon seed.

“Merry Christmas, Sherlock.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for not posting this sooner. The motivation died, but I had a surge of inspiration and here we are. Hope you enjoy chapter 2.


End file.
